


Weird Science

by FatlocknDomJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/pseuds/FatlocknDomJohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock experiments with Johns tea...Things backfire</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird Science

"Food Science"

 

The word was written in bright, bubbly font on the board of Sherlock Holmes "Honors Science" class.

 

He knitted his brows together in confusion, looking around and meeting shrugs and equally unsure glances from the four other students in his class.

 

University had been an incredibly, just brilliantly perfect time for our fair and frighteningly bony detective. His test scores in science and mathematics had bed so incredibly high that his institution was forced to create an entirely new curriculum just for him and a limited number of Biology, Chemistry, and Biological Anthropology majors. This series of classes, in which Sherlock had been enrolled in for three years, generally consisted of independent studies with specific instructors in those students fields, Sherlocks being chemistry, but always included one, year-long class that met once a month and assigned broad areas of study that each student would complete a project on.

 

Sherlock had excelled more than any of his colleagues, all of whom both admired and feared his intelligence, The only one brave enough to speak to the condescending genius being the mousy, but brilliant, Molly Hooper, whose skill in forensic anthropology had her receiving job offers and more than a dozen big-name criminal investigation units.

 

Molly's skill and honestly adorable shyness had earned her the spot of "Sherlocks Best Friend," a title held by only one other person.

 

John Watson was an averagely intelligent, pre-med student on a rugby scholarship that the nervous-to-the-point of quivering Holmes-baby had met on his first day of orientation, the boys wild, great curls jutting out in every direction above a zit-covered face and perpetually frowning mouth. John, one year above Sherlock, had been his orientation leader, arms thick with muscle under sun-kissed skin, eyes full of warmth that filled whatever room he was in. Sherlocks heart had pounded when this bronzed god had made it his mission to bring the sulking teen out of his shell. They had started dating two weeks later, and had continued doing so for the past two years, Sherlock a junior and John set to graduate in the spring.

 

Sherlocks face had cleared up, though his body had remained the same, his no-longer-perpetual frown turning to a smile whenever he wrapped his skeletal arms around his boyfriends rock-hard waist and beefy, muscular back.

 

Sherlock had kept this body for a reason, noting how Johns eyes hovered twenty-seven percent longer on the sharp angles of his hips and rib cage, with special focus on his incredibly bony arse, which presently plopped down next to Molly as his professor walked in.

 

"Food science!" The woman shouted, excitedly. "The food world is booming with all sorts of chemical additives and so on!" She scribbled down a long sequence of symbols, which everyone but Sherlock copied down.

 

"Since I have a meeting today, and there's not much we can discuss seeing as there's noting for all of you to present yet, you're task for this month is to investigate the use of additives in food or drink!" She turned back to the class with a smile.

 

"Good luck! And have fun!"

 

With that, class was dismissed, and Sherlock stood up, his mind whirring rapidly, not even hearing Molly's small and squeaky "Goodbye."

 

Chemicals...additives...hmmm

 

He had read an interesting study in the affects of appetite stimulants on mice and the subsequent weight gain it caused, but could that be used for the better?

 

Perhaps combining it with essential oils and vitamin, one could aid athletes in their attempt to put on muscle! 

 

Johns coach was always complaining about how thin John is, the young Holmes thought, throwing his long coat on his bed, tight black shirt and pink skinny jeans highlighting his lithe figure, an outfit chosen by Sherlock specifically with Johns pleasure in mind, with all of the honors students clothing being as tight as humanly possible.

 

Sherlock settled in at his desk, scribbling a formula wildly before darting out the door, he was going to have to quick if this plan was going to be put into action.

 

***

 

John was...suspicious, to say the very least, when Sherlock texted him saying the he would be in charge if drinks and snacks for their daily tea time.

 

It had started as a way for John to try coax an angry and frightened eighteen year old into talking to someone. The first three days were...hell to be quite honest, with Sherlock spitting out every horrible insult he could think of in an attempt to drive John away, going so far as to "accidentally" spilling his boiling-hot tea on Johns pants...three times. But on the fourth day, he realized John was serious, that someone actually wanted to know him beyond his experiments and his chemicals.

 

John thought Sherlock was...brilliant. Amazing.

 

And even after the two started dating the tradition continued, with John taking early morning classes and the night owl taking all evening, the two spent every afternoon together.

 

And in all that time, Sherlock had made tea -

 

Twice.

 

The first- Test the effects of a mind-altering drug. (Which John didn't entirely hate)

 

The second- Test the effect of a sort of...anti Viagra. (Which John did absolutely hate)

 

So John was certainly wary when his skeletal boyfriend, with high cheek bones about hollow cheeks and a shirt that clung to his concave middle, came out holding two cups if tea, and set one down specifically in front of John.

 

John smiled, warmly. 

 

"No biscuits then, darling?"

 

Sherlocks eyes lit up.

 

Good! He's already hungry! That appetite stimulant and metabolism suppressant should be absorbed near instantaneously!

 

"Of course!" He said, with a small, dark giggle, "Be right back."

 

Not once moving the smile on his face, John reached forward and swapped the two teas.

 

When Sherlock returned with an entire box of chocolate digestives, John are four, not an insane number for someone of his activity level, but the only thing Sherlock noticed was that the entire box was gone.

 

Sherlock beamed, and John beamed brighter, noting his slim boyfriend muffle a burp.

 

They're meeting was cut short, however, when for some reason Sherlock became quite tired, his overstuffed tummy rounding upward as he lay flat in his bed, a sliver of ivory flesh peeking out of a shirt stretched to its limits.

 

Their daily ritual continued, and as the days passed Sherlocks mood improved markedly, saying hello to people on his way to the vending machine or the dining hall, finally taking advantage of that "All You Can Eat" pass, entirely not noticing the way his hips filled out and eventually strained the seams of his skinny jeans, the way a small, delicious lip of fat developed on his lower tummy, spreading upward, making his skin tight tees curve outward with rapidly swelling, soft flesh. The way his arms begs to fill out his sleeves, the way his pants pockets began too-tight to even slip a finger in. He monitored changes in John, changes that didn't seen to be happening, making his project a failure, so he upped the dodge again, and again, his body swelling out rounder and rounder until Sherlock was jumping up and down, flopping back onto his softening back every day just to get his stupid, shrunken pants to button over an ocean of jiggling flesh.

 

He noticed nothing about his own body, that is, until three weeks later.

 

He and Molly had gotten lunch. 

 

She, a salad.

 

He, three pieces of pizza, two burgers, a large soda, and a piece of chocolate cake.

 

They were chatting about their most recent projects, how grants were coming along, when suddenly there was a loud -

 

*POP*

 

-and the dull ache Sherlock had been feeling around his waist for the past few weeks vanished. He sighed, contentedly, but Molly look suddenly nervous.

 

Sherlock took a big of his burger and raised an eyebrow at her,

 

"Is something wrong?" He asked, mouth full

 

"U-um Sherlock, do you want to go back to your room? I-it's ok! You don't need to be embarrassed! It happens to college students all the time!"

 

"Leave?!" He scoffed, "Still eating! And what do you mean happe-"

 

Sherlock stopped, his fuller face going pale as a breeze traced it's cold fingers around the space where the genius' fat gut oozed out like bread dough.

 

Sherlock felt his breath hitch, and he stood up quickly, feeling his tummy and round ass wiggle excitedly at the movement.

 

He stalked across campus, moving...slower than he assumed he did, his breath huffing and puffing, chest rising and falling, both from emotion and the side effects of his more piggish nature.

 

He took the elevator, like he always did now, and in the silence felt tears bite the back of his eyes.

 

He forced them down.

 

"It's ok, it's a little weight...five pounds at most."

 

In the quiet of his own room, Sherlock stripped to his pants, soft fat sighing out as his slid his painfully tight jeans off.

 

Sherlock gasped at te figure before him.

 

The twenty something with curly black hair and skin that glowed with health was...big.

 

A gentlemanly potbelly sat on his waist, above curvy, voluptuous hips and an ass that was like two globes of snow-white cream.

 

Sherlock explore his deepened belly button, surprised at just how far in his fiver slipper.

 

His delicate hands reached around to his backside, easily able to grab multiple handfuls of soft flab.

 

He took his belly in his hands, noting the softening chest above it, and shook it, the fat wobbling and dancing under his fingers.

 

He felt his breath grow short, heat rising to his face, about to think just how crazy all this was when there was a knock at the door.

 

Sherlock straightened, terrified

 

John. For tea.

 

The genius rushed toward the door in an attempt to locked it, but found himself squashing his fat gut against his lovers chest, burying Johns face in his soft chest.

 

Sherlock rumbled off a list of how sorry he was and how he'd diet right away as John lifted him off his feet, only stopping when he was dropped down onto his bed, which creaked angrily.

 

Johns eyes burned with desire, he wet his lips, moving like a lion on the prowl as he lowered his firm, clothed ass on his lovers thick, naked thighs

 

"Do you know how long I've thought about putting some meat on those bones?" 

 

Sherlocks only response was a loud moan as the rugby players mouth closed on his neck, sucking a deep purple mark of ownership.

 

Sherlocks cries only grew louder, his mind clearing of anything but pleasure as John kiss and nipped his way down his soft chest, teeth grazing over a sensitive nipple, before taking firm hold of the genius' love handles, rough hands squeezing enough to leave marks

 

"Sherlock Holmes, you are mine. And now, there's simply more of you for me to have."

 

John shot his muscular body back, dipping his head down to smother it in Sherlocks round gut, the fat enveloping his face as his tongue explored the boys deepening belly button, one hand groping Sherlocks huge arse, the other desperately attempting to remove his tiny, too tight, red pants.

 

***

 

Some time, and some food later, and overstuffed Sherlock hummed contentedly as his nude, hard, rugby boyfriend traced circles on his done of a belly.

 

"So you swapped our teas?" 

 

"Mhm."

 

"Every time?"

 

"Mhm."

 

"Clever boy."

 

With that, John gave the tummy he was mostly responsible for a kiss, his lips brushing against the hyper-sensitive fat, then moving his legs to straddle his lover.

 

John brought his hands to rest on either side of Sherlocks tummy, emphasizing just how massive it had grown in the short time, then simply settled down on top of his massive lover. Sun-kissed muscle meeting moon-glow flab, hard, firm abs pressed against soft, adorable tummy.

 

"What am I going to present next week?" The genius murmured, lost in a blissful has of sugar and John.

 

"I've got a few ideas."

 

***

 

One week later, a wide and smiling Sherlock Holmes, skin and hair radiant with the nutrients he had put in his formula, whipped off his too-tight shirt, belly pooling out over skinny jeans that refused to button, the seams on his thighs looking like they'd tear at any moment, while his professor stared, open mouthed.

 

"I present the result of my project."


End file.
